Page 153 of His Duchess in Disguise
Emma sighed. “I’m not sure what is wrong with him, but I’m fairly certain it is something more than strong drink. Lord Harlow has clearly given him something to keep him compliant. If we can win free, we can come back for him.”I hope.In spite of everything he has done, he is my father.
One by one, they slipped out of the carriage. It seemed to be parked in a hold of some sort. The walls were close on all sides, leaving barely enough room for them to ease out into the inky blackness. It was not the bottom-most hold, for the floors were dry underfoot. As they crept forward, the party could see portholes through which torchlight shown dimly. A crude stair led upward and was topped by a trapdoor.
Mr. Jones climbed up the stair and pushed against it. “Locked,” he reported. “We’ll not be getting out that way. Mayhap if we look about quietly, we can find something to drink. Those gags must have been made from the guards’ dirty socks; they were that nasty.”
Emma put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. So like Mr. Jones to make a joke, even at a time like this.
They spread out through the hold carefully inspecting the various bundles and bales. Mary gave a sharp intake of breath, then hastily put the top back on a barrel. “Gunpowder,” she whispered. “Don’t light any candles, lucifers or tha like. We could go up in a cloud of glory.”
“I’d just as soon not,” whispered Mrs. Able. “Although in a short while, that might seem like a good solution.”
Mr. Jones found a crate of bottles. “Rum,” he reported. “Good grade, too, if I’m any judge.”
“Tea,” said Mary, “Now, if we only had water.”
“Bottles of wine,” Emma said. “It isn’t water, but perhaps we can ease our thirst.”
“Not water into wine, but wine into water,” commented Mrs. Able, deliberately misquoting. “It is too bad we can’t find a barrel or two of nature’s drink.”
Emma took a sip from the bottle. It was new wine, fruity and a little raw, but not too strong and drinkable. She took another sip and passed the bottle to Mary. Mary sipped, swished it around in her mouth, took another and passed the bottle on. They did not drink much, especially Mrs. Able who was usually miserable at sea, but the sweet wine did alleviate the aching dryness in their throats.
“Bully beef,” Mr. Jones said, bringing linen bags that bulged at the edges.
“Too salty,” Emma said. “I can wait.”
There was more light in the hold now. They could see that it was crammed with boxes, barrels, and even bales of cloth. Emma discovered a barrel of dried peaches that were more to her liking than the dried beef.
Looking out one of the portholes, she could see that they were floating past the docks in the harbor. It was dusk outside, and torches were being lighted to guide the ships as they sailed out of port. “Where do you suppose he is taking us?” she speculated, watching signs of civilization floating by.
“Not quite sure,” Mr. Jones said, wiping at the porthole, as if hoping that being able to see better would reveal their destination.”
Just then there was a loud boom, and something that looked like a cannonball plopped into the water right on the other side of the porthole.
“Stand to! Stand to, and prepare to be boarded,” called an impossibly loud voice.
“On what authority?” Lord Harlow called back. “We are an official vessel on official business.”
“So are we,” the loud voice called back. A megaphone, Emma realized. She had seen one on display at the museum, but she had never heard one. “So, stand to, and be boarded. If you are what you say you are, you have nothing to fear from a duly registered vessel of the King’s Navy.”
The Duke! That’s Leo’s voice. He isn’t dead.Emma folded her hands briefly and offered up a quick prayer of thanks. They weren’t out of trouble yet, but he had come for her.
“That’s Leo,” she said aloud. “If we can figure out a way to get out of here, we can get his attention and warn him about the kegs of gunpowder.”
“Indeed,” said Mrs. Able. “Let’s continue to look about for tools. Even something to bang on that hatch or to break a porthole.”
They renewed their search but could find nothing until Emma had the idea to look in the carriage. There, at the bottom of the boot, lay a large sack of tools, intended to be used in case the carriage broke or lost a part.
Mr. Jones took up a large hammer and a sharp chisel and began work on the hinge side of the trapdoor. He fell back with a yelp when someone fired a shot down through the wood of the trapdoor. The bullet whizzed by him and lodged in a box, but it was a near thing.
They waited a few minutes, not sure what to do, while the loud debate about standing to or not standing to continued outside. Then Mary, who had been inspecting the tools, pulled out a keyhole saw and mimed sawing.
Mr. Jones nodded vigorously but did not immediately start work on the trapdoor. Instead, he stacked up several crates of foodstuffs and began sawing into the floor, in an area well away from it.
The loud noises from the other end of the ship seemed to be keeping the attention of whoever it was who had fired through the trapdoor. That was fortunate, for the seasoned boards resisted being cut. After a time, Mr. Jones had to rest, and Mary took a turn, then Emma.
After what seemed an eternity, they sawed through the tough wood and emerged into what appeared to be a world of fire and chaos. Cannons boomed periodically, shooting wads of something that sailed over the deck and plopped into the water.
The giant voice called again, “Stand to! If you do not stand to for peaceable inspection, you will be boarded forcibly! The grapple is ready.”
